


Pain

by aniay



Series: Secrets and lies [1]
Category: Transformers, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Consensual Violence, Dark, M/M, Painplay, Plug and Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-06
Updated: 2011-01-06
Packaged: 2017-10-14 09:18:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/147746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aniay/pseuds/aniay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I like to watch your pain.</p><p>written for tf_rare_pairing 2010 November challenge<br/>betaed by silverbells</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pain

Wheeljack watched as the grey bot came back from another mission. He was worried about the young gunner. His armour was dusty, dull and lacking a shine. The inventor knew the poor bot was quite different from any other mech – he was constantly surrounded by the force-field of his constant words, hiding behind it. Most of the Autobots did not bother to look further, to see through the constant chatter.

Wheeljack did.

The inventor had made it his own personal goal to get to the bottom of who Bluestreak really was.

He was as persistent as with his own experiments, and when he finally cut through to the real Bluestreak, he was terrified of what he had found.

But as he did with his experiments, he drilled deeper, trying and searching to the last possible moment while ignoring all the warning signals until the whole device exploded.

Wheeljack didn’t mind pain, he was used to it, had learned to treat its reprimands like a strict teacher’s. And he was a bad pupil, the one that never listened.

He steeled himself, knowing that now that the wall was broken, Bluestreak would be _visiting_ him soon. Despite this knowledge, or maybe because of it, he was already shivering with anticipation.

He knew what Bluestreak needed and he was willing to give it to him.

The door opened quietly behind him and Wheeljack shuttered his optics, not looking, gripping the table in front of him so hard he was leaving dents.

The lights dimmed, enough to barely recognize shapes, but not enough to see clearly.

Wheeljack was waiting, shivering with anticipation from the images his processor created, revelling in the knowledge that by now those blue optics would have darkened, the shy smile twisted into a malicious grin.

The touch that came was light, too light, too delicate for the Bluestreak Wheeljack knew. A finger or maybe two touched his back plating, sliding up along his spinal strut. The gunner’s touch woke up dormant sensor nodes, making Wheeljack tremble slightly with the effort not to arch back into the grey hand.

As if reading his very thoughts Bluestreak’s hand stilled on the nape of 'Jack's neck, only to slide around to the front of it. Fingers pressed into the delicate vents there, and were released instantly, silently asking for permission for what Wheeljack knew would have him writhing with pleasure.

"I trust you." Wheeljack managed, his voice laced with static. Primus, Bluestreak had no idea how arousing their sessions truly were.

"You want this?" The voice beside his audio was deep, resonating with its owner’s hidden desires.

"Yes." The word was barely louder than a whisper, but it was enough.

The feather light touches became stronger, heavier, pressing into his armour on purpose with more pressure. The exploring fingers dug deeper under the plates, pinching wires harder until  
a short whine of pain slipped through Wheeljack’s processor.

"Please."

Bluestreak was smiling, Wheeljack was sure of it, but his smile was predatory, mad; optics gleaming with insanity. The fingers pressed against the sensitive lines in his neck and Wheeljack grew lightheaded as the signals to his processor was cut, vital energon flow obstructed – he was suffocating, his life controlled by Blue.

As the pain registered in his processors, the arousal heightened. Close to agony, his body vibrated with helplessness. :Do it, let go, Blue: Wheeljack urged, his voice through the comm. staticky, weak.

Grey fingers were so close to his main energon line, so close to his life source, but Blue would never kill him, never offline him...

And then Bluestreak turned him around, released the grip and Wheeljack let the processor bath in the signals coming back at normal strength, falling to his knees. He looked into Bluestreak’s optics; they were glowing with arousal and his cooling fans were whirring at full speed.

It was about control, going on to the cliff-edge of killing and then backing away. It was about the knowledge that Bluestreak _could_ back away.

"You would never kill me." Wheeljack said and promptly Bluestreak backhanded him, making the engineer cry in pain.

"I'm a weapon, 'Jack, I could kill you." Blue snorted and in demonstration, grabbed one of Wheeljack’s head fins, and crushed the light between his fingers. Pain exploded through Wheeljack’s neural nets, alighting countless errors and making him keen and whine.

It was about causing pain and not being hated.

"But you won't, you're safe."

Bluestreak leaned forward and gripped ‘Jack’s arm, stroking the inventor’s fingers with his own, seemingly marvelling at their beauty "The voices... they tell me to kill, to hurt." He pulled a finger from its socket and Wheeljack screamed, neural lines snapping with agonizing pain before leaving his hand numb.

"But you will never kill us, never kill me." Wheeljack gasped, voice weak. He quivered with fear and need. His body was already conditioned to associate pain with pleasure - once the pain of explosions came with the pleasure of discovery, now it was replaced by the pain of being deliberately hurt. "You can hurt me, but never kill."

It was all about trust.

With a click, one of Blue's fingers transformed into sharp talon which he pressed to the stripped mask and promptly ripped it in half, revealing 'Jack's mouth, leaving him both helpless and aroused. Helplessly aroused, Wheeljack thought, before he was distracted by the gunner’s next move.

The grey mech promptly forced his lips onto Wheeljack's, kissing, biting, and made the engineer whimper into the harsh kiss. Whimper from the pain, whimper from the  
pleasure.

Whimper from the pain, as the claw pierced through Wheeljack’s armour only to promptly continue on its path through his port cover and with a quick twist of a grey hand, to rip the covering off his interface port.

Wheeljack watched the grey Datsun, begs to stop mixing with begs for more escaping from his vocalizer. Excoriating pain sent his sensors into overdrive, drawing him close to a sensory overload, as his body thrummed with input.

When the gunner plugged in, Wheeljack sobbed quietly. When the connection was established, even deeper pain was registered over their mental link, as Bluestreak’s pain became his own. The pain of losing everything, the pain of being used like a weapon, the pain of being alone.

It made the inventor reel with its intensity.

:I trust you, you would never really hurt me.:

:But I want to, I want to know I can hurt, and I like to watch your pain, see your pain.: The words were getting frantic, assaulting the connection which thrummed with excitement and the intoxicating high of pain.

:Hurt: Wheeljack sent before the pain assaulted him once again, piercing and blinding and he screamed and cried until  his processor couldn't take it anymore. The connection was aflame with burning torture until his world exploded with an agony that wouldn’t be the same if Blue had tried to hurt his body.

Passing thought of how alike they were, self destructive, broken and hurting but in oh so different ways. But the pain was cleansing, enlightening, awakening.

Pain ripped off the masks they both wore.

And then overload claimed him, an overload of agony and excitement and relief.

When he came to, Bluestreak was gone, and his broken chassis declined to cooperate, mask ripped in two, misaligned finger, sensors blown. But his processor clean of errors, defragmented and quick.

He couldn't feel anything, yet he sent a command to a small device close to him to explode. He could imagine shrapnel piercing through his armor, tearing holes, masking his true self again, he was  
distantly aware of arm being ripped off.  
But it was never fatal, like Bluestreak’s times with him. Bluestreak killed because he had to, yet he needed the assurance that even though he was a soldier, a weapon of this war, he didn't have to kill, that someone trusted him with his life.

And now Wheeljack trusted Ratchet to bitch about ‘Jack blowing himself up again and missing the unusual silence that emanated from Bluestreak.

  



End file.
